Wolverine in Gotham
by MissMilkMaid
Summary: Having escaped Arkham Asylum, Wolverine is loose in Gotham city, but when a renewed attempt on Bruce Wayne's life is made, both Batman and Logan go on the hunt to find those behind it.
1. Chapter 1: A Gotham Night

**Disclaimer:** All rights belong to DC, Marvel and other entitled parties. I'm making no money on this and post it here for private entertainment only.

**Wolverine in Gotham**

**AN. **This is a sequel to my story "Wolverine in Arkam." I recommend reading it first, but you are of course free to be a rebel and read on ahead with what's in front of you. I'd rather you stay here than not read either one. Also, this is rated T for f-bombs and violence.

* * *

Chapter One: **A Gotham Night**

Dr. Sharon Patel hadn't intended on staying out this late. She hadn't intended on getting this drunk either. But now it was nearly 2:00 am, she could hardly walk in a straight line and she had five blocks to go before getting home.

Muttering under her breath, she pushed graying black hair from her dark face and pushed her glasses up her nose. It started to drizzle and that gave her one more thing to mutter complaints about, until she heard the noises behind her. They broke out suddenly, only 40 feet back: shouts, growls and curses, the usual thuds and smacks of a brawl. Then there was a metallic _snikt_ sound and a curdling scream.

Two large men she vaguely recognized from the bar she'd just left, stumbled out of a dark ally and scampered away like frightened dogs. One of them was holding his arm… or rather he wasn't, because it seemed to be missing. There was a lot of blood and Sharon was too drunk to be sure what she saw, but it frightened her enough to make her gasp in fear and fumble in her bag for her bulky mobile phone. When a third figure jumped out into the light, all dark hair and brawny muscle with the gleam of blood and metal at his hands, Sharon yelped and turned to flee, forgetting all about the phone and everything else, as the rain finally came down in full.

As if in a nightmare, she heard a bestial snarl behind her and the scrap of metal on cement, as the monster pursued her with a speed that didn't seem possible. Stumbling, she skidded on the wet ground and lost one of her heals. Then she slammed into a dumpster and got around a corner, only the hear the crunch of rusted metal behind her and catch the brief glimpse of someone jumping off the fire escape above her, before he landed right before her eyes. Screaming, Sharon tried to stops, but her ankle twisted in her remaining heal and she fell forward.

Strong hands caught her and the smell of cigars, beer, leather and blood filled her nostrils. "Doc!" said a somewhat familiar voice, "Doc, It's me. You all right?" She was pushed back onto her now bare feet and finally saw the man's face.

"L- Logan?" Sharon asked, wishing she wasn't so drunk. He looked different than she remembered, but patients always did when she saw them outside of the context of Arkham. Instead of the loose grey Arkham uniform and white robe, he had on dark jeans and a leather jacket, both of which had more than their fare share of ware and tear. His hair was longer, though as dark and unruly as ever and he still had the ridiculous muttonchops. However, the absence of the bulky custom cuffs was what stood out the most and what made her the most nervous. Edging away, she pushed up her glasses and tried to speak in her professional voice, despite her nerves and intoxication.

"You attacked those men didn't you?" She accused, her Indian accent slurring slightly, "Have you learned nothing about controlling your violent impulses since leaving the asylum, Logan?"

Logan growled and bent over to pick up her lost heal. He already had the first and he shoved them both back at her, as he stood up. "They were following yeh. Stocked you all the way from the bar and one of em' had a knife."

A chill ran down Sharon's spine, but she kept her composure. "That doesn't mean anything. The bar closed. They were probably just on their way home, same as me."

The mutant snorted, "Sure thing, Doc, and the knife was for cutt'n any flowers they found on the way, so they could press 'em 'tween the pages of the phone book when they got home. Look, I aint been living in Gotham long, but I've been here long enough to know that you should always 'sume the worse."

"You think that gives you an excuse to go chopping off arms?" Sharon demanded and glanced hastily at some of the blood spattered on his jacket, before looking him firmly in the eyes. "You're twice as dangerous as anything else in this city and just as bad. If those two were following me, then what were _you_ doing, may I ask?" Stuffing her heals into her purse; Sharon looked him up and down. They were both soaked now and even without her heals she was and inch or so taller. "You're an escaped mental patient and a wanted criminal, not to mention a mutant."

His hands clinched into fists and she could almost hear him mentally counting down from ten in his head the way she'd taught him to do when he was angry. "I was following you too," he growled, "Been look'n all over for yeh. You quit your job, not that I'm surprised after what you did to me."

Sharon managed not to blanch, but it was difficult. There was a reason she preferred to spend her time getting drunk in sleazy bars rather than working and researching in her professional field. The reason had to do with Logan, but mostly it had to do with herself. Apparently she was a true Gothamite. Despite all the good she'd set out to do, in the end she'd come out as dirty and corrupt as the next guy. "Yes, well…" she sniffed and tried to walk past him.

Before she could go two steps, he grabbed her wrist and his grip was as tight as a vise. When she looked into his face, he was glaring daggers. "Let go!" she demanded, her tone as firm and commanding as it'd been in Arkham, but out in the real world he didn't listen and their weren't any guardsmen behind the next door ready to come in and drag him away in a straightjacket.

"You lied to me, Doc," Logan growled and swung her around to slam against a wall. It didn't hurt very much, but it certainly let her know who was in control and she dropped her bag, going a little pale. "I'm not sure how involved you were with Van Dyke, but you knew from the beginning what he did to me and why. And you knew he was working for Hugo Strange didn't you?"

Nervously Sharon pushed her glassed up her nose. "I, I didn't have anything to do with what Kurt did to you. What he did was sick. I didn't even know until you-"

Viciously Logan lunged at her, shoving her back against the brick wall and growling in her face, his teeth only inches from her nose. There was a _snikt _sound againand she saw his claw sticking out of his left hand. With the strength of a power drill, they slammed into the wall near her head, sending bits of wet gravel and chipped brinks bouncing to the ground. "I _don't_ want to hear about what you did and didn't know back then," he snarled, "All I care about is what you know now." Rain was running down the sharp blades of his claws and black locks of his hair. The fury in his eyes was so intense, she was sure he would kill her and for once Sharon Patel was too frightened to speak.

"Where's Van Dyke and Strange?" Logan demanded, "Tell me where they're hiding and maybe I'll forget all you did to me, all the lies you fed me right along side your damned medications!"

"I, I…" stammered Sharon, struggling to slip away from him and his claws.

He shook her. "You're making me angry, Doc," he growled, "And I don't think counting down from ten is going to work. Tell me! WHERE IS STRANGE!?"

"I don't know!" wailed Sharon, "I don't know! I told Kurt I wanted out as soon as I recovered from Joker's attack on Arkham! I want no more to do with him. He's mad and so is Strange!"

With and angry growl Logan threw her to the grown in disgust. "So you know nothing!"

Fighting the urge to cry, Sharon attempted to regain some composure, pushing her hair from her face and gathering up her fallen purse. "I… I do something. I- DONT touch me!" she slapped Logan's arm away, as he reached down to try and drag her up to her feet. Getting up on her own, she undid her messy ponytail and worked on re-gathering the wet hair, not looking him directly in the face, as she spoke. "I left, but Kurt still calls, trying to convince me he's going to fix it all."

Logan gave an angry snort, but she ignored him. "I was going…" Her voice wavered some, but she pushed on, "He called earlier today and…" As she tried to find her words, Sharon was reminded why she'd been so intent on getting drunk this evening. She hated being so afraid and so guilty, "I was going to tell the police, but I was scared and…"

Logan grabbed her arm and spun her around to look at him. "Doc, tell me what you know."

She dropped her head, staring down at her wet stockings and his scuffed cowboy boots, "He's still trying to kill Bruce Wayne," she said, "Kurt said he and Strange hired someone to assassinate him. The best there is apparently, some legendary sniper he called Dead Shot. He didn't say, but I think they were planning on hitting Wayne tomorrow night at the Wayne Tower. There's a big party for him winning some humanitarian award."

Logan was staring hard at her, "You're sure?"

"No," she shook his hands off her, "For all I know Kurt's lying about everything. I told you what I heard him say and what I've managed to surmise. And _no_, I don't know anything more. I don't know where he is, or where Strange is, or what else they might be planning."

She tried to push past him again and again he growled and grabbed her arm. "You have his number. You could call and set up a-"

"NO!" Sharon slapped his hands away and shoved him firmly in the chest, causing him to take a stumbling step back. "I won't have anymore to do with this Wolverine," she told him, "I quit my job, I broke up with Kurt and I'm telling you the same thing I told him. If I ever see you again, I'm going to call the police and you'll be thrown back into the cell so fast you're head will still be spinning when you reach your first 25 years in jail. Now, get out of my way!"

Sharon shoved by and this time Logan didn't try to stop her and didn't follow her. By the time she allowed herself to look back, he was gone and all she could see was the usual city lights, and dark, dangerous allies of a Gotham night.

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**AN:** Thank you for reading and PLEASE PLEASE review. Feedback is very encouraging to me, even if you only leave a word or to to let me know you were here.

~MMM


	2. Chapter 2: The War

**Disclaimer: ** All rights belong to Marvel and DC. Don't sue me. I don't have any money.

Chapter Two: **The War**

A string quartette was playing Mozart near by and waiters in black tuxedos strutted about, making sure no one was lacking in Champaign or hors d'oeuvres. Bright light from the high chandelier reflected off the polished floor and shone on the bright skills and jewelry of the women walking about on the arms of their dates. There were three women on Bruce's arms and he entertained them with a little small talk here, a flirt and a wink there and a steady flow of drinks, while the majority of his attention focused on the rest of the room.

Parties such as these were a regular duty of the rich and famous and he could have walked through it in his sleep if he had to. Smile, smile, nod "_Such a pleasure to see you, Sir."_ Smile, nod, shake hands, "_You look radiant tonight!" _Speech, smile, nod, shake hands. Every now and then he actually met someone interesting and managed to have a worthwhile conversation, but for the most part there was little difference between these parties and the generic Christmas cards everyone sends out once a year. "_Yes I still exist and I have deemed you worthy of a smile and a nod."_

He knew almost everyone, or at least recognized their faces. Most were local Gothamites, some were from other cities like Metropolis or New York. For the most part they were people who had received money or business from Wayne Enterprises, or else were hoping to. Bruce could only assume such was the case for the man who next approached him. It was one of the few faces in the crowd he didn't know, but he had the tell tail signs of both a military man and an academic about him.

_Military research_, thought Bruce and added, _widower_ and _idealist_, once the man was closer.

"Mr Wayne? How do you do? William Striker," greeted the man, shaking Bruce's hand with a firm grip and a pleasant smile."

"Striker? Don't think I've had the pleasure before, but it's always nice to see new faces at these things. What's you're business in Gotham?"

"Same as it is everywhere, Mr Wayne. I'm here to serve humanity and seek out the necessary resources to do so. I'm a researcher, worked for the military most of my life, but recent cuts in the budget have, shall I say, given me the opportunity to try expand my horizons."

Bruce allowed an easy chuckle to pass his lips. "It's good to meet a man who can view the loss of funds in such a positive light," he said and took a sip of Champaign. "What's you field, Mr. Striker."

"Colonel," Striker corrected politely swishing his own Champaign in his glass, "Colonel Striker. I've done a lot of research in the psychology of solders, the stress they face in the battlefield and the sort of men best suited to be fighters, killers and heroes. However, for the past fifteen years, my main focus has been the mutant phenomenon." He met Bruce's eyes a keen light in is own. "From what I've heard you've had a taste of mutant terrorism yourself. That attack on your life last year must have been most frightening."

"Dear lord you have no idea," Bruce said and downed the rest of his glass, "Nothing like a near death experience to bring an issue to the front of one's concerns." Setting his empty glass on the tray of a passing waiter, Bruce added, "However, besides that horrible indecent, I know very little about the matter, save what we all hear on the networks." He took a moment to tease the ear of one of the girls at his arm, whispering a sweet word, as he ran a hand down the open back of her dress and shared a sip from her wine glass. She giggled and Bruce could see Striker frowning slightly. He wasn't surprised by the man's presence. In fact he was more surprised that some mutant fanatic hadn't come begging for funds sooner than this.

"I admit it seems complicated to an outsider," Striker said, "But once inside the issue, it becomes rather simple. It's another battle. A battle in the war for survival that mankind has waged since the first ape stood up on two legs."

"War?" Bruce asked, "That's a pretty strong word. My company is well known for its anti-war policies. We don't fund any research that goes into the making of weapons or offensive technology."

"You misunderstand me. I simply refer to man's struggle for survival, a struggle we all take part in and do are very best to contribute to. You're as much a fighter in it as I am. Weather we are fighting to find the cure to cancer, or stave off enemy forces, we are all fighting this war."

Bruce nodded, "I see where you're coming from. Are you saying mutants are a threat to our survival, Colonel?"

Striker smiled. "In some cases they are. You yourself can testify to that, but overall I'd say no. Some people claim them to be the next step in Evolution, a higher species of being, but these people don't really understand the nature of mutation." Striker turned from Bruce slightly, looking out over the rest of the party and through the glass windows with their commanding view of Gotham City. They were above most the other city buildings, but a small plain was flying past, a long advertisement for life insurance flowing behind it. It almost seemed to be surfing on the many lights wafting up from the city below like some luminous flood.

"Mutation may have been the key to the advance of Evolution, but for every mutation that took us forward a hundred million more were steps backwards, freak accidents of genetics, ugly deformities and weaknesses amid the strength of the main strain. This is still the time of men, Mr. Wayne. Whatever mutations Nature arms these freaks with, it will always be trumped by human ingenuity." Striker smiled and turned back to face Bruce. "That is _our_ mutation, Mr Wayne, the key difference that sets us above the animals. Whatever Nature throws at us and we turn it into a tool to our advantage. These mutants are just Nature's latest volley and I have no doubt we shall find a way to overcome."

Bruce had been listening attentively and frowned slightly. "So I take it you don't see them as human then. That seems rather harsh. Would you have us exterminate them?"

"No Mr. Wayne," Striker laughed, but Bruce could tell from the change in his tone that the sincerity of his previous words had been pushed aside for a socially acceptable mask, "At least we can pray to God that it never comes to that. I simply said we shall overcome. Weather that means learning to live in peace, curing them, or sending them or live on a far distant planet of their own, I can not yet say. Such is the purpose of my research. To find the best possible way to deal with mutantkind. It's my belief that mankind's ingenuity can lead us to a better result than bloody warfare and genocide. If you were to consider lending some funds to my research then, God willing, we will find that result all the sooner and will no longer have to worry about feral mutants attacking us in our own streets."

"I admit you have my interest, Colonel," Bruce said, "Lets exchange cards and maybe we can arrange some time to talk about this in more depth." They exchanged business cards and shook hands one more time, before going their own ways. As he flirted with one of his girls, Bruce watched Striker make his way to the bar, making a mental note to do some thorough investigation on the man later, before turning back to the tedious routines of the occasion. He had the feeling there was much more to the Colonel than what had been presented on the surface.

"Still making the usual rounds, Boss?" came Lucius Fox's grave voice, "Seems like it's been the same damn faces and same stream of empty words for fifteen years running. Only the dress fashions change with the times."

Bruce smiled and managed to shake loose of his female companions for a few moments, as he walked with Lucius away from the main crowd to a spot near the outer windows. "Same faces, except that one," he pointed toward Striker, "What do you know about Colonel Striker?"

"Hrm…" Lucius peered over the heads of the crows at the gray haired Colonel, before saying, "Not as much as I'd like. He worked for the military, extreme top-secret development stuff. Pretty sure he was heading up some super powered special forces type project, before getting shut down and thrown into the military's equivalent of the basement. That was several years back. Have no idea what he's doing these days. However, I don't suppose you remember Dr. Kurt Van Dyke? He worked in one of our development departments for a few years, until we had to let him go for mal practice in his experiments."

"I remember him. He was pretty angry about getting let go. Received more than a few hate letters."

"Well, Van Dyke worked with Striker back in the day. The files were top secret, but our background checks go beyond routine. If Striker is anything like his underling, then he's not the sort Wayne Enterprises will want to be affiliated with."

"Nonetheless, I'd like you to dig up whatever you can on the man and sent the reports to my desk. I found his…"

Bruce broke off midsentence when the window beside them cracked with a sound like a breaking iceberg. Behind them, the chandelier shuttered and fell half off the ceiling as a bullet hit it near the base. Then there was the loud reports of gunfire and the whining grind of an airplane going out of control.

Amid the startled and alarmed screams of those around him, Bruce turned in time to see the little plane that'd been flying an advertisement careen off course and crash through the glass of a neighboring skyscraper.

* * *

Logan woke up when they placed an oxygen mask over his face. The usual burn and ache of healing wounds was slowly receding and some smashed bullets slipped from his bloody clothes as he sat up with a start, roughly shoving away the mask and the emergency attendant.

"Holy crap!" exclaimed the attendant looking at him with wide eyes. "Sir, I need you to,"

"Out of my way," Logan growled, scrambling to his feet. Wreckage and broken glass was everywhere and the wail of sirens pounded against his head like hammer on anvil. All around were people bustling about in various uniforms, communicating urgently via radios. However, all Logan cared about was the smell. The smell of his target's blood, a trail left behind and leading away from the chaos. He staggered for the door.

"Hold on, you," started a man in a police uniform, "Where do you think you're…" The man advanced, but Logan grabbed his vest and threw him vicious out of the way, before running into a long hall.

"Stop!" There were more yells and sounds of men shouting into their radios, but Logan ignored them.

The plane had crashed. That was the last thing he remembered. He'd leaped onto it as it passed, just in time to mess up Dead Shot's precious aim. They'd fought briefly and he remember getting shot a few times, before the whole plane had careened into the glass side of a skyscraper. This was why he hated flying.

He was still in pain, as he turned a corner and he stumbled against a pastel wall, leaving a smear of blood. Logan looked down and realized that a piece of the damned plane was still stabbing through his gut. Grimacing, he took hold of it with both hands.

"Freeze!" two cops with guns out stepped from behind the corner. One of them was the man Logan had thrown aside at the door.

"GerrrAH!" Screaming in pain and rage, Logan pulled the shrapnel from his body and threw it at the cops. Aghast, they both dodged back around the corner, more in shock than fear.

Extending his claws, Logan snarled and attacked the blood-stained wall. With a few powerful digs and a booted kick, made a hole large enough to climb through, and pushed broken drywall aside. The sound of the cops could be heard behind him, as he entered a dark room and he rushed for the door, eager to get some space between him and his pursuers.

Logan hated fighting police. He knew they were just doing their jobs, but it was hard not to kill them, when they made things so very difficult. For a moment he thought of Batman and his never-kill rule. Were all his battles as difficult as Logan's with police, using all your drive to succeed and yet continuingly holding yourself back from a really fighting, like a stallion tangled in hobbles? Probably not, Logan decided. After all, Batman was just human, not a mutant like him.

Thankfully, he didn't see anymore of the Boys in Blue for a couple minutes. Finding a stairwell, Logan rushed headlong down the cement, using his claws to keep from slipping. Catching Dead Shot's sent stronger than before, he gave a wolfish grin. His prey had left the building by this same way and…

He hesitated, when the trail suddenly turned off the stairs and onto the fourth four. Growling low in his chest, Logan pushed the door open and followed. The fourth floor was full of more dark halls and offices and very quite compared to the scene of the crash. Another sent hit him and the hairs on the back of Logan's neck stood up, as it stirred a familiar rage and bloodlust. It was Bruce Wayne.

Logan didn't see him until he was in the room and even then the first his he noticed was the open window, not the dark figure hidden in the shadows.

"You," came a deep voice. Logan's eyes fixed on the man as he stood up, long cape and pointed ears silhouetting against the window. "What's your part in this mess?" demanded Batman.

His eyes fully adjusting to the dark, Logan slammed the office door closed behind him and smirked at he looked the taller man up and down. "Bats," he greeted cheerfully and cracked his knuckles then his neck. "Long time, no see. Guess your wounds healed up just fine after all?"

"I still have the scars," Batman replied darkly, "Makes it very easy to recognized you handiwork when I find in it the streets… or the morgue."

Logan snorted. "I never meant to be here, but I got to say I've found plenty to do in Gotham."

"This is my city, Wolverine."

"Whatever you say, Bub. Now get your rodent's ass out if my way. I've got an assassin to hunt down."

Batman moved to face Logan more directly, standing squarely between him and the window. "Don't worry about Dead Shot." Batman murmured, "I'll handle him, but first I'm taking you back to Arkham."

Logan snorted and there was a _snikt_ as he extended his claws. "We'll just see about that."

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**AN: **Thanks for reading. Please leave a review!


	3. Chapter 3: Man vs Mutant

**Disclaimer: ** All rights belong to Marvel and DC and whoever else has the rightful legal copyrights on these characters.

Chapter Three: Man vs Mutant

Bruce knew he had to act hard and fast. He still didn't completely understand Wolverine, sometimes the mutant acted and fought like a raging animal, mindless and bloodthirsty. Other times he was like a steel samurai, with discipline and training to match his own and even principles of a sort. Nonetheless, weather he was facing man, or beast, Wolverine was no easy opponent. He couldn't hope to match the mutant in strength or endurance, so he'd have to rely on … well as Striker would say… ingenuity.

Bruce slid his right hand under his cape to his belt.

"No you don't," snarled the mutant, running forward "No toys Bat-boy!"

The gleam of metal claws sped toward him and sent a rush of adrenalin to Bruce's head. Rolling aside, Bruce barely managed to dodge then whipped a bolas off his belt, sending it flying at Wolverine's legs. The rope and weights tangled and Bruce had his next weapon in hand by the time Wolverine hit the floor.

Now. He had to put him down right now! Tazor in hand, Bruce lunged at the back of Wolverine's neck, but he wasn't fast enough.

With a roar, the mutant turned, claws flashing. Too close to pull back, Bruce ducked, rolling. He was hit by the side of the mutant's arm, rather than the deadly claws and then crashed right into him. A moment later, they were both in a tangle on the floor and the smell of the mutant was all around him, blood, cigars (the foul, cheep kind) beer and hair gel (pomade actually, old-school. Probably Crew brand… maybe Redken.) All this flashed through Bruce's mind, as he continued to roll, narrowly avoiding another stab. A thud and the mutant's claws buried themselves six inched into the cement floor left of Bruce's skull. It was reminded of just how strong the mutant was.

This close in proximity there was no room for a proper punch, but Bruce managed to slam the sharp fins of his gauntlet against Wolverine's jaw, just as his knee hit the mutant in the crotch. It gave him an opening and Bruce got his boots in place. With all the power in his legs, he kicked Wolverine in the stomach, knocking him several feet across the room, where he smashed into a desk.

Rolling back to his feet, Bruce grabbed something else from his belt and took his place in front of the open window, allowing his cape to hide his arms and watching Wolverine stand up from the wreckage of the desk. He kicked away the bolas with a contemptuous snort and shook his shaggy head in a manner similar to a dog.

"You'll have to do better than that, Bub," he laughed, but before he could step forward again, Bruce tossed a puck-sized disk to the floor at Wolverine's feet and pressed a button on his belt. Rapidly, the disk flashed with a little green light.

Snarling, the mutant kicked it aside and rushed forward. "Your stupid bomb can't-"

His words were cut off as the sonic shield engaged within Bruce's cowl. However, even with the protection the sound of the sonic grenade was both deafening and painful and the wave hit hard as any punch. Bruce almost flinched… almost.

At his feet, Wolverine wasn't nearly so stoic. Blood was running from his ears as he keeled over in agony, clutching his head in both clawed hands. Bruce couldn't hear him, but he could see the mutant howling and cursing fit to be hung. All around them was broken glass and even down in the street, car windshields were crack, their lights flashing with alarms.

A small smile tugged at Bruce's mouth and he casually took out a set of bat handcuffs.

* * *

It was agony, but Logan had been through worse, much worse actually. Still, having both his eardrums blown out wasn't something he could just shrug off. The world swirled and rang and his vision was a mist of red over black. His hair and hands were wet with the blood running from his ears and he couldn't have heard Niagara Falls, if he'd been standing right beside them. However, he saw Batman's slight smirk in the corner of his vision.

As the pain and dizziness swiftly retreated, Wolverine started to growl then thought better of it and waited. It was about time he got a chance at the element of surprise. Logan didn't move. Not until he felt the strong grip of Batman's glove and the chill of steal on one wrist. Snarling, he sprang up like a pouncing tiger, grabbed Batman's collar and jerked his head down, butting it with all the force of his adamanitum skull. The crime fighter grunted and his grip went limp.

"No need to thank me!" Logan roared and threw Batman across the office and through the door with a splintering crash. "Next time I'll let the bastards whack Bruce Wayne 'fore I kill 'em."

His ears still ringing and aching from the damned sonic bomb thing Batman had pulled, Logan shook his head and cracked his knuckles, before going to the shattered windows. Four floors: it was pretty high, but he'd survive. Growling, Logan leapt into the air and braced himself to the slam of the car roof below.

A sudden whirr sounded and before Logan could think, someone grabbed his leg. A black cape flew into his face and Bruce's smell surrounded him as they suddenly sailed through the air at the end of a long steal cable.

"What the fu-"

There was a jerk as the cable came taught and Batman let out of pained grunt as he held Logan's leg in one bulging arm and his grapple gun in the other. There was whining grind from the cable as his started to wind back up then got stuck.

"I'm heavier than I"

SMACK

Both Logan and Batman crashed into a large billboard above the street and the grappling gun was lost, as they both had the air knocked out of them. Logan grabbed at the edge, slipped and managed to get his feet under him, before landing like a big cat on the sidewalk. A couple civilians stumbled back gaping and he heard some police shouting out from across the street. Glancing up, he saw that Batman had managed to keep a perch up on the sign. White eye-slits gleamed from the black cowl and Logan felt a chill at the sight, before turning to run.

Cursing Batman and the police, Logan turned into the first ally he came to. It led around a parking garage and when he came to a tall brick wall, Logan snarled and climbed it faster then a panther up a tree. It was darker on the other side and the sounds around the skyscrapers dulled slightly. He was pleased to still be following Dead Shot's trail and even more pleased to hear no sounds of immediate pursuit. Smiling wolfishly, he was about to congratulate himself when there was a sudden clatter and a _poomf_ as a batarang flew out of nowhere and suddenly exploded into a thick gas. "Damn yeh!" Logan choked and scrambled up onto a tin and plywood shed used to house a dumpster, rushing to get up out of the gas. He saw a black swish of a cape above a nearby building, as the Dark Knight disappeared into shadows, but then nothing more.

Growling, Logan sniffed, but all he could smells was the smoky gas, misting up from the ally below. "Where are yeh," he muttered, extending his claws, as he tried to look in all directions at once.

Two batarang flew out of no where, with a _Clank _and a_ Clatter._

Logan snarled and put a hand to his neck as a third batarang cut him. Whirling around he tried to see where it had come from, but there was still nothing. "Bats!" Logan shouted through gritted teeth. "You're not going to get me with your little- Gahahh!"

The grappling bolt shot out of from one of the dark roofs above, whirring with the speed and force to burry itself into brick and concrete. It went through the flesh of his chest without any trouble, grinding past adamanitum ribs and coming out his back with a splatter of blood and gory bits of lung.

Knocked off his feet, Logan groaned and clutched at the thick steal cable, his vision swimming with shock and pain. "Damn…. Yeh… gnuph! AgAhh!" He bit back screams, as he was pulled up, the gun reeling him in like a fish on a line. Frantically, his boots kicked against the tin roof of the shed and he tried to get his get his thoughts to come together through the red fog.

"REAGHH," He was three feet above the shed, when his claws flashed and slashed the cable apart. Still in a blind haze, he fell and crashed through shed roof, landing on cold hard ground. The bolt of the cable was still through his lung, making it hard to pull in air. Fumblingly, he clawed and dug at the metal, finally pulling it out with a sticky _slup_ of blood and flesh. As the wound rapidly started healing, he opened his eyes and then slowly smirked when he saw what was before him.

It wasn't the dumpster the shed had appeared to contain, but a motorcycle. More than a motorcycle really, it was a god among motorcycles. He'd never seen anything so beautiful, so sleek, so expensive! It was tripped out with all kinds of things, including what looked like a couple of cannons and a jet engine booster. It also had, Logan noted with a widening smirk, a bat emblem on it.

Giving a ragged chuckle, Logan staggered to his feet and hastily set about hotwiring the beauty. It wasn't an easy task, but Logan had had plenty of experience with motorcycles. By the time a couple of batarangs and another gas bomb came clattering into the shed, Logan was raving the Batcycle up with a purring roar of engines. There's was a thud on the roof, but Logan didn't take the time to look up, as he surged forward, running down the shed door like it was made of straw.

"WOOHoooo! Yeah!" he yelled and turned sharply up the ally, quickly gaining speed. He heard a curse behind him and smiled, extending his middle claw and raising it over his head. "Suck on this Bats!"

Turning onto a wider road, Logan went even faster, maneuvering though Gotham traffic with ease and leaving Batman and everyone else far behind.

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**AN: **Thanks for reading. Please review!


	4. Chapter 4: Wolverine vs Deadshot

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Batman or Wolverine or Deadshot.

Chapter Four: **Wolverine vs Deadshot**

**Warning**: This chapter is pretty violent and contains torture and heavy language.

* * *

It took Logan about 45 minutes, of circling and weaving about Gotham's streets to be sure he'd shaken pursuit and picked up Deadshot's trail again. It wasn't that easy to find the sent of one man amid a city teaming with millions of people and billions of smells, but hunting was what Logan did best and he hardly had to slow the Batcycle, (or whatever Batty-boy called his motorcycle) to track his target. Before long, Logan was zipping along side roads toward a simi-revived neighborhood on the east end of Gotham. A good area to hide out, not too rundown so as to be a hive of gangs and criminals and yet shady characters could still pass by without standing out like dog shit on a gulf green. Still, the bat-motorcycle wasn't something often seen in any neighborhood and he drew a few odd glances when he passed under a lighted bus stop.

Luckily, it was far enough removed from the throbbing heart of Gotham to be very crowded at this time of night and when Logan neared a closed down Good Will store, there was no one around but the strong lingering sent of the man he was hunting. Deadshot was close by.

The shopping center was lagging behind the rest of the neighborhood in the revival department. The only stores that had a thriving look of life and upkeep was a movie store on the far side and a fast food pizza place. This late at night, all the shops were closed. Many of the surrounding lights were out of repair, leaving the black asphalt of the parking lot a scattered patchwork of cracks and dead leaves. Around the old Good Will there were no functioning lights and a blackness not often seen in large cities had swallowed it whole.

Logan approached from the back, leaving the motorcycle twenty yards away by the dumpster of a languishing hardware store. He moved cautiously, grateful for the shadows, a hunter closing in, silent and intent all his senses alert, all his muscles ready to spring into action.

Rather than leading through the padlocked door, his trail led up a utility ladder to the roof. Peering over the edge Logan's sharp eyes looked through the darkness at the building top. The Good Will was taller than the other buildings and above the heat and dust of the cement it felt cool and remote. Gravel and dead leaves covered the surface and there were a couple air-conditioning units and what looked like a utility shed with a broken padlock on its door. Stepping off the ladder and over a puddle of brown water and soggy leaves, Logan sniffed and moved toward the shed.

Deadshot was in there. He could smell him and now he could even hear the soft, perpetual sounds of life, breath, heartbeat, subtle shifts of movement. Giving a low growl, Logan extended his claws with the familiar scrap of metal on metal and made a bolt for the shed door. He was hardly a foot away from ripping it apart when he saw a gleam of red and a glimpse of steal through the crack of the doors.

_Slam! _ _Thack! Phsue! Phsue!_

The doors flew open, hitting Logan in the face, but it was the bullets that knocked him back. Two silenced pistols mounted on Deadshot's arms, fired at point blank range. Logan didn't have time to observe much beyond that. The bullets hit him in the face, exploding on his adimantium skull, ripping through various sockets into his head. He blacked out.

The burn of healing, an Everest sized headache the faint awareness of a few more silenced shots fired at him spun through Logan's bleary awareness, before he finally woke up.

"I really can't believe it," came a voice and Logan opened his eyes to see a man kneeling over him. The bizarre metal faceplate, armored body suit and single red targeting devise where the eyes should be were recognizable.

"Deadshot," Logan growled and jerked his arms, only to discover he was chained by his wrists to some heavy duty piping around the rooftop air-conditioning units.

Deadshot was holding a bit of smashed leaden bullet between his gloved fingers and he let it fall back to blood-stained gravel as he looked at Logan. "And I thought it was taking forever for me to die. You're the Wolverine right? Heard about you on the news. Some freaky mutant that escaped Arkham with the Joker. Pretty big rep. Didn't quite expect this though."

Logan snorted, "Yeah, whatever, Red Eye. I didn't come here t' talk 'bout me."

Deadshot stood up and aimed down at Logan with the gun mounted on his right wrist. "Why did you come here? If it was to kill me, I'm afraid you'll have to be patient. I still have a contract to keep. Once that's done, however, you're welcome to try your best. You seem to be a very interesting man."

With no more warning than that, Deadshot's silenced gun when off two more times and Logan bit back a scream, as the bullets rip into his torso. Some blood splashed into his face and Logan snorted through clinched teeth, turning his face away. Blood pooled in his lungs and he started coughing it up, spitting out a red glob on Deadshot's boots.

"You hardly even flinched," Deadshot mused and the red eye in the mask watched, as Logan's wounds healed and the bullets were ejected. "You immune to pain or something too?"

"Nah," spat Logan, getting rid of the last of the blood, "Just gotten used to it. Old friends now. I'll be sure to introduce you."

"So not dying is your… power?" Deadshot lower his guns, allowing them to fold back into the gauntlets on his suit, "Must be Hell."

"It has it perks," Logan said and fast as that, his claws flashed out, cutting through the pipe then the chain like they were butter. With a practiced swing of his leg, Logan knocked the mercenary's feet from under him, sending him crashing onto his back.

"See not dying aint my only power," Before Deadshot could get up or take out a gun, Logan was on him, keeping him pinned with one hand on his throat the other poised over his face, claws extended. "I got a few other tricks up my sleeves… pointy tricks."

Using his claws, Logan managed to remove the mask from Deadshot's face, revealing a handsome, middle-aged face with a dark mustache and brown eyes.

"Tell me how to find Hugo Strange and Kurt Van Dyke," Logan snarled, leaning close and letting the very tips of his claws brush the exposed skin of Deadshot's cheeks, "Now!"

Despite the fact that Logan was practically spitting in Deadshot's face with every word, Logan knew he wasn't really frightening the man. For one thing the mercenary's heart rate was only slightly increased and rather than showing fear in his eyes, Deadshot only raised one eyebrow, before giving a snort of bemused scorn. "I have no idea what you're talking about. Not that I'd tell you if I did. I got a reputation to uphold."

"Fuck your reputation!" Logan roared, "It won't mean squat when you're dead!"

"Actually, it's all I'll be and won't _that _be a relief. The TV said you were a bit mental. Maybe you shouldn't…"

Deadshot's arm moved, but before he do anything, Logan roared and seized it, twisting it harshly and forcing the mercenary onto his stomach, as his arm was wrenched and Logan's knee slammed against the small of his back.

Ignoring Deadshot's screams of surprise and pain, Logan kept twisting until he heard the bones about to break. "Shut up _Floyd!"_ he growled, "You don't know me, but I know plenty about you." He let up on the arm slightly, just so the man would stop screaming, "Got a friend who's pretty good with computers and we found out all about your _reputation_. You're a cold blooded killer."

"And you're any better!?" Deadshot hissed back.

"Maybe not, still can't remember shit, but like I said I'm not here to talk about me." Logan leaned down and slammed his claws through the roof close to Deadshot's face. "You never miss, Floyd Lawton, never fail a contract. You certainly didn't fail when you were hired to murder Britney Gage, a fourteen-year-old student, who got pregnant after Geoffrey Wright, running candidate for Boston mayor, took advantage of her backstage of a convention. You didn't fail when an unknown client hired you to murder Mrs. René Darcy and her three children after the mysterious disappearance of her husband on an overseas mission for the CIA. And now Hugo Strange has hire you to take out Bruce Wayne, Gotham's leading donator to humanitarian causes and CEO of the business that puts food on the tables of 43% percent of Gotham's working people."

Deadshot snorted, "Why the hell do you care mutant?"

"I hate to see good people get killed. On the other hand I rather like seeing murdering scum get killed. But more important to me right now is finding Strange, so you better start talking, Bub!" Logan twisted Deadshot's arm again, this time pulling it completely out of join, just to make sure his point was made.

Yelling in pain, Deadshot's other hand beat vainly against the roof gravel. "You got it all wrong!" he shouted, "I don't know anything about this Strange you keep talking about. Let me go! I wasn't hired by the people you're looking for!"

Cutting off the pistol gauntlet and other equipment on Deadshot's arm, Logan let go of the dislocated limb with a growl and got to his feet, jerking the mercenary up by the collar. "What do you mean? Strange didn't hire you?"

"No he fucking didn't." Deadshot spat back.

"Well then who did?!"

"You can't make me talk!"

"Want to bet!" With a forceful snarl, Logan swung Deadshot around and threw him fifteen feet through the air, after which he tumbled head over heels for several more feet to the edge of the roof. Dizzy and gasping for breath, Deadshot managed to take out a gun, but the few shots he managed to get off either missed, or else Logan hardly even noticed them through his rage and he lunged after the man. Without his targeting mask it was hard for Deadshot to see anything in the dark and Logan's booted kicks and heavy punches were so fast the mercenary couldn't even defend against them.

A spin kick sent Deadshot's gun flying away, a slash of claws let him rip away the armored chest plate, allowing him to land some good solid blows to the mercenary's liver and solarplexes, before finally braking the Deaddhots arm with a precise karate chop that crushed through bones like they were toothpicks. Deadshot was still screaming and clutching his arm when Logan pinned him over the edge.

"Who hired you!?" Logan shouted.

"Go to hell! I'm not afraid to die!" This time Logan could hear the man's heart racing, but there still seemed to be little fear in his face. If anything the man looked thrilled; thrilled by the fight, by the pain and even the prospect of Logan ripping his throat out.

For a moment Logan just stared, trying to figure this man out. "Trust me Bub," he finally said, "There's lots worse than death. You've built a reputation on your skills haven't you? You're a killer, best there is?"

Deadshot just grinned his lips curling under his perfect mustache, "You said you looked me up. You should know."

Logan growled, "Well then what's going to happen to that reputation after I stab out you're eyes?" Logan extended his claws, letting them lower to a quarter-inch from Deadshot's eyes balls. "And after I chop off both your hands, maybe your feet too? I won't kill you. Just drop you off blind and helpless at the nearest hospital. They'll make sure you live. Make sure you live to spend the rest of you days as a damned invalid, dreaming of what you use to be, known only as the Deadshot the Blind and Decrepit."

Deadshot stared at him and finally Logan could see the fear coming into his eyes. "You wouldn't," he hissed, "You're bluffing!"

There was a snarl and a scrap of metal, as one claw swiftly stabbed in and out, leaving the mercenary's right eye a bloody wound. Dropping his victim down on the gravel rooftop, Logan cracked his neck. "I aint like Batman, Floyd, and I when I say something I fucking mean it. I don't give a crap about mercs like you and one way or another I'm going to find out who you're working for and put an end to your career of murder and assassination."

He stepped forward and grabbed Deadshot by the collar, extending his claws toward his face again. "Now, shall I take out the other eye?"

"No! Wait. Alright, I'll tell you." Struggling up, Deadshot put a hand over his bloody eye, "Damn it."

"Well?" Logan asked, retracting his claws and stepping back.

"I was hired by The Penguin eh… Mr. Cobblepot. No idea what he has against Wayne, but he paid top dollar, 50% ahead."

"Penguin?" Logan repeated a little confused.

"Yeah, owner of the Iceberg Lounge, King of Gotham's black-market. Do you live under a fucking rock, or are all mutants this stupid?"

"I know who he is," Logan growled, "Just don't see what he has t' do with anything."

"That's your problem. My problem is that you took out my fucking eye and broke my arm! Not to mention ruined my kill earlier tonight! How am I going to finish off Wayne with only one eye and one arm?!"

Logan's eyes darkened as he looked down at Deadshot. Blood was streaming down half his face and through his mustache and over his lips and chin. Clearly, he was in a lot of pain, but he still seemed relatively unafraid and mater of fact. He still had a contract to fill and one-eyed and one-armed or not, he still had every intention of fulfilling it.

"You're not," Logan growled, stepping forward again and extending his claws.

Deadshot looked up at him and his good eye met Logan's in a steady stare. "You're going to kill me?" he asked evenly.

Logan leaned over him, noting the slight pick up in Deashot's heartbeat again and that spark of thrill in his eye. "You want me to," Logan said and it wasn't a question.

Deadshot's lips twitched at the corner of his mouth in what might have been a smirk. "Do it."

Logan let out a shout and there was the sound of metal cutting through flesh, as adimantium stabbed through Floyd Lawton's heart.

* * *

**AN: **Sorry there was such a long delay with this chapter. I had a lot of issues figuring this out. For one thing, having been mostly exposed to comic book movies (and cartoons) and only just now starting to read the comics, I didn't have any idea what Deadshot's character is like. I tried to do some research, but Wikipedia can only give you so much. Sorry if I completely botched his characterization. Secondly, I wasn't sure how far I should take Logan. I feel like I was pushing the line some with how brutal he was in this, but keep in mind that in this AU setting he's never met the X-men, or learned from them to be a better person. Also, from what I did learn about Deadshot, he isn't an easy nut to crack and I wanted to do his character at least that much justice.

I would really really appreciate feedback at this point. Am I writing Logan too brutal? Should I tone him down a little, or keep on along these lines? Any other thoughts/advise you want to share with me? PLEASE leave a REVIEW. And thanks so much to everyone who has reviewed so far.

~MMM


	5. Chapter 5: The Hood

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Batman, Wolverine or any other recognizable characters/places.

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Chapter Five: **The Hood**

Once he got back to his cave and Batmobile, it wasn't hard for Bruce to track down the Batcycle. Nonetheless, it was nearly two in the morning by the time he pulled over at a rundown shopping center on the east end. The area had improved quite a bit I the past few years, but it was hard to tell when he looked at the broken lights, gratified walls and struggling businesses before him. It was dark and much more open than his usual haunts and the unaccustomed stillness of the city outskirts made the hair on the back of Bruce's neck stand up.

Following a GPS tracker, Bruce strode across the parking lot to the back of a hardware store, where he found his batcycle laying on its side. Save for a little scratched paint and stripped wires it seemed undamaged, but far as Bruce could tell there was no sign of ether Wolverine or Deadshot. Even after he did an infrared scan, the only life he could find near by was a scrawny cat hiding under a car. Hesitantly, Bruce turned off his usual nigh vision and took out a small flashlight, so he could search more closely for clues.

He was pretty sure that if Wolverine had broken into any of the shops' locked doors there would be obvious claw marks left behind, but even after ten minutes of searching he could find nothing to show that the mutant had been here. Had Wolverine just dumped the bike and taken some other means of transport away? It sounded a little too clever, but he'd underestimated Wolverine's intelligence before.

Walking one last time past the back of a Good Will store, Bruce was about to give up, when he heard the faint sounds of a door banging open and closed in the wind. It was something lightweight, a shed of sorts and seemed to be coming from above. Stepping back, Bruce could see a utility ladder leading up to the store's flat rooftop.

"The roof," Bruce murmured. _Of course_. He couldn't believe he hadn't thought to check the roofs before this. The hollow sounds of the banging door were still echoing down, as Bruce took out a new grapple and shot it up with a whirr. He knew as soon as his cowl looked over the edge that Wolverine had been here. Blood was everywhere.

And a body…

Boots crunched over gravel, as Bruce hurried over to Deadshot's side. He didn't need to check for a pulse to see that the man was dead. Three stab wounds through the chest, the center one going right through the aorta artery and up into the heart. Deadshot had died instantly. Gently, Bruce turned the man's head, so he could see the stab wound in the eye then glanced at the arm, out of joint and broken. He could only assume Wolverine had been after answers and the rapid death stroke was implication the mutant had gotten what he wanted before the end.

The whole thing weighed heavily on Bruce, as death always did. He should have captured Wolverine back at the skyscraper, should have stopped the mutant before it came to this. He'd failed and because of his failure Deadshot… Floyd Lawton… was no longer living. A daughter had lost her father because of this.

Gritting his teeth, Bruce stood up. Judging by the body, Wolverine killed Floyd less than hour ago, probably just shortly before his own arrival down in the shopping center. The roof of the Good Will had a good view of the neighborhood and Bruce moved to the edge. Taking out a set of binoculars, he searched the neighborhood, focusing on a nearby bus stop and any other movement he could find. Nothing. The mutant was gone. His fists clenched the binoculars like a vise, but there was nothing he could do, but continue searching the roof for clues. Most likely, Wolverine was after whoever it was that hired Deadshot, whoever it was that wanted Bruce Wayne dead.

Glancing down at the blood, much of which couldn't be Deadshot's, Bruce couldn't help but reflect on how close he'd come to dying tonight. In his own way, Deadshot was probably one of the most dangerous enemies he could have. True, he wasn't as insane or devious as the Joker or even Twoface, but those enemies could always be counted to show themselves. A sniper, especially one gunning for the always-public Bruce Wayne, would be nearly impossible to guard against. One shot from the right hiding spot and he'd go down as easily as anyone else. He'd dealt with Deadshot a few times before and probably could have dealt with him again… probably.

Clearing his thoughts, Bruce walked back to the body. Why had Deadshot come up here?

The open shed proved to hold the answers to that. A careful search turned up a stash of weapons and ammunition as well as several thousand dollars in cash. At first Bruce though it might be part of the kill fee, but even if only a small portion of the fee was here, it wasn't enough. An assassin like Deadshot would cost millions, especially for a target as public and influential as Bruce Wayne. The money here was probably just an emergency stash, one of the many he had probably hidden in the city. More promising was the cell phone, Bruce discovered under a chair. The previous calls might lead to an employer, or perhaps a bank. If Deadshot was being paid digitally, he'd want to confirm it every step of the way. Stashing the phone in his belt to be examined back at the cave, Bruce returned to Floyd's body.

Searching the man's pockets, Bruce found a note and a small book of matches. "The Iceberg Lounge?" Bruce mused, reading the logo on the matches, then opened the note.

_Bruce Wayne_

_12:00 am_

_Wayne Tower 80__th__ floor_

_October 4th_

Tonight, the time and place of the attempted assassination.

Carefully, Bruce folded the note and then looked back at the book of matches. Had he met his employer at the Lounge? Was it just a coincidental meeting place, or was Oswald Cobblepot, Gotham's bird-brained, elitist criminal and black market connoisseur involved? Either way, he'd have to follow up this lead at the Lounge.

But not tonight…

Glancing up at the stars, Bruce could tell that the night was slipping farther and farther along. As important was this was, he refused to let his other duties as Gotham's defender fall completely by the wayside. He had rounds to make, people to visit and typical suspicious dealings to investigate, before morning came. He could only hope Wolverine didn't plan on killing anyone else tonight.

* * *

Thanks to his tattered, blood soaked clothes Loagn was in no condition to use public transportation, which meant at least a two hour walk through the city. He cleaned up at a station and brought a smelly coat from a homeless man to cover the worst of the blood soaked rags, but even so he looked like someone who just walked off the set of a horror movie.

Nonetheless, Wolverine rather liked walking through Gotham at night. It was dangerous. More often than not he found trouble when he walked the streets this late, but it was trouble he could handle. This wasn't his home. He wasn't even completely sure how he ended up in Gotham, but he sensed that the city was like him. Gotham was wounded, sick, struggling for light, redemption and answers from a deep, dark place. Gotham was a fellow traveler on his road and he liked to think that he offered at least a somewhat helpful hand along their way. Or maybe that was just bullshit thinking. In any case it made him feel alive to take action, so he stayed alert.

He was about halfway home, when there was a shriek from a nearby building. By the time he'd crossed the street and found the right door, the screams had gotten louder. Suddenly, the door burst open and a girl with short blond hair, red lipstick and no clothes ran out, practically crashing right into him. Fearful eyes and a bloody face looked on him with shock then she scampered by, as a man holding a knife in one hand and her bra in another stomped out the door behind her.

"You fucking whore!" he cursed drunkenly, "Come'ere! I'll teach yeh! I'll fucking cut yer-"

He broke off startled as Logan stepped squarely between him and the lady. Apparently he was so drunk he was having trouble seeing straight, because he had to stare and blink a few moments, before realizing there was a real person before him.

"Deh Hell are you?" he mumbled then managed to spot the lady cowering by some parked cars a few feet beyond, "Outta mah way! I'm go'na killer her!"

The lady screamed as the man lifted his knife and tried to push by. Smoothly Logan grabbed the man's wrist and kicked in the back of his knee. In less than a dozen seconds, he had the man down, arm pinned behind him, as he twisted the knife out of his grip.

"You aint doing nothing, Bub," he growled and glanced up at the woman, "What the hell's going on?" he asked.

"She's cheat'n me!" screamed the man struggling in vain against Logan's hold, "Ahhag! Let go of me, bastard! Do you have any idea who I-"

_Snikt_

Bloody foot long claws popped from Logan's hand and glinted in the streetlight. "Shut up," Logan growled.

"Duh-fuck is that!?" exclaimed the man.

"Your ticket to Hell, if you don't shut up," Logan snarled letting the edge of a claw brush the man's bare chest, "I was talking to the lady." He looked up again, "You hurt bad? Need the hospital or anything?"

She was trembling, mouth agape. For a moment she looked like she would just bolt, but then she shook her head. "I… I will be okay. That's that Freddy Kyle. I… I didn't mean to…" she faded off looked pale.

"Who?!" snorted Logan.

"Freddy Kyle!" Freddy said, "Son of Dan Kyle. You'll both be in so much shit. When…"

Logan punched Freddy in the back, causing him to let out a scream of pain. Then he threw him down on his back, putting one boot on his neck to keep him pinned and lowing his claws toward his crotch. "I don't care who her father is, but if yeh ever want to fuck again, you'll shut it and pay the girl. Then you'll leave her be and go sober yerself up! Got it Bub!"

"I…! You…!" Logan leaned forward letting the claws rip some of the seams on Freddy's pants and the man turned pale. "Yeah! Yeah whatever man! Just don't…. I'm sorry!"

"Where's your wallet?"

"My pocket. Here!" Freddy fumbled to drunkenly get out a fat wallet, and Logan snatched it up.

"Lady's cloths in the house?"

Freddy nodded.

Logan glanced at the girl. "You feel safe enough to go get yer things? Don't worry I'll make sure Fat-boy here stays outside."

Nervously the girl came forward and hesitantly snatched up her bra from the sidewalk before running back in.

Once she was gone, Logan glanced through the wallet, taking in the address on the driver's license, and the flipping through the credit cards.

"You're going to be so dead, when I tell my father."

Logan growled and leaned over the man, "You listen here, Bub. You don't look so bright, so you probably haven't heard of me. Name's Wolverine, I'm an escaped mental patient from Arkham." Grabbing Freddy up by the collar, Logan leaned into his face, "You want'a come at me, Bub, then come on, bring yer old man along too. But if you try an go after the girl, or anyone else, then I'll cut off yer balls and shove 'em right up your ass."

Freddy stared. "Did… Did Quinton hire you as protection 'o something? He's fucking crazy! You're crazy!"

"That's what they tell me," Logan snapped, but he shoved Freddy back to the sidewalk. He'd recognized the pimp's name. He'd try to have a chat with Quinton as some point and make sure none of the girls weren't getting cut up by the likes of Freddy Kyle.

Finally the girl came out, dressed with her face washed clean of blood and make up. Logan tossed her the wallet and she hesitated. "I'm not… Not sure," she said, looking down at Freddy.

"Do what you feel is best, Hun," Logan said, "But I think this dipstick knows better than to come after you. Right?" Logan growled down a Freddy.

"Yeah. yeah, Ehk!" Freddy said, as Logan's boot pressed into his neck.

"I'll come by and talk to Quinton, if you need me to," Logan said.

She looked at his bloody cloths and claws, "No. Uhm no. I think it will be okay. He's already warned Mr. Kyle before. I, I just need to get back is all." She took some money from the wallet and hurry down the sidewalk. About ten yards away, she hesitated and looked back. "Uhm thank you," she said, before heading for the Taxi station.

Logan waited until she was gone, before viscously grabbing Freddy by the collar.

"Hey, hey wait! Don't!" yelped Freddy, but Logan ignored him, as he pulled back a closed fist and hit him hard enough to knock the man out cold.

For a moment he considered running the man through, but then sighed and hefted Freddy over his shoulder and simply dumped him inside the door of the apartment, before continuing on his way, Freddy's knife stuck in the pocket of his coat.

His rout finally took him to a rough neighborhood, just south of the University. Rundown and crowded with struggling students, druggies, and dealers, it was about as dangerous as Gotham could be, short of being a battle zone for warring gangs. Even at four am, loud music could be heard throbbing from rundown apartments and here and there junkies or beggars sat on the edges of alleys and watched Logan past with furtive looks.

He ignored them. This was his territory now. He had nothing to fear.

Logan was just starting to reflect how nice a hot shower would be, when a familiar stench hit him and was rapidly followed by a familiar and unpleasant person hopping down from an upper fire escape to land froglike beside him.

"Hey Logan!" a young, ugly man, with sewer green eyes, pasty skin and filthy… everything fell into step beside him, his nasal voice rattling not-stop in Logan's ear. "Daaamn! You look like hell man! Where you been? Want t' but a watch?" he opened his jacket to reveal several wristwatches of various makes and sizes.

"Beat it Toad," Logan snarled, "Just cuz I save yer life once, doesn't make us friends."

"Sure it does. I owe yeh. I'll even give you a watch for half price!"

Logan just growled low in his chest.

"Ok. Hey I get it," Toad said raising his hands and taking a step back, though he continued to keep up with Logan's strides with short hopping steps. "But listen man we should stick together you know. The word's gone out man. You're a mutant, you can't just ignore the rest 'o us."

Logan stopped and faced the other mutant. "What do you mean _the word's gone out_?" he demanded, "The last thing I need is for the police or … other people to find out where I'm staying."

"Hey, no. Nothing like that," Toad assured him, "Its just that word's getting around that this… That this is a safer place for… well people like us and other misfits." Toad ventured a brotherly fist bump to the shoulder, but waver short last moment when he caught Logan's angry glare. "Word's out that this is the Hood."

"The Hood?" Logan repeated.

"Yeah," Toad spread his hands as if trying to explain the obvious, "The Hood of mutants. It's territory, protected territory, thanks to you. And don't yeh worry 'bout the police none. Most of 'em know better than to mess with Hoods."

Logan frowned then shrugged and turned to continue on his way. Knowing Toad this was all just thought up out of his head and had nothing to do with reality. To his annoyance the smelly pickpocket continued to hop along beside him. "Hey Logan. You alright man? You look like you got dragged under a train o' something. You know if you ever need help there's plenty of us who'd be happy to-"

Reaching his apartment, Logan rounded suddenly on the other mutant. "I work alone," he snapped, "I don't need you, or anyone else poking around in my business." He grabbed Toad's collar and jerked him forward, "Got it Bub?"

"Eh yeah… sure," Toad swallow nervously and looked significantly relieved when Logan let go of him, "Sorry man."

Logan snorted and turned away. He rented a room above a small pub situated in the basement a few steps down from the main street. Despite the location and the neighborhood, McAnally's was a surprisingly good pub. Best brew Logan could remember having and despite being a draw to all kinds of freaks and misfits, Mac made sure nothing significantly illegal ever when down there.

Usually the bar would have been closed this time of night, but Logan could still hear the television, the sounds of conversations and clanking glasses, coming from below, as he jogged up the steps to his apartment. It peaked his curiosity enough he decided to stop by the pub after he showered.

The building owner and manager met him on there stares. "Hey Forge. What's going on?" Logan asked, looking around the Native American down into the lighted pub.

"Mac let Eliot keep the pub open late. Everyone's still watching the big news."

"What news? The plane crashing by the Wayne Tower?"

"No, well that too, but you haven't heard?"

"Heard what?"

"There was some kind of terrorist attack up in NYC. They think some crazy mutant was trying to target the UN session on Ellis Island."

"They think it was a mutant?"

"Yeah they got some guy in custody too. Go check it out. I'm heading to bed. By the way, you catch up with that Deadshot guy you asked me to look up?"

"Yeah. 'preciated you help." Logan said and turned to descend the rest of the steps into the pub. Mac was nowhere in sight, but that was no surprise, since he kept to a strict personal schedule. Logan had never seen him up past 2:30 am. Instead of the elderly, balding brew master, the chef/bouncer, Eliot, was keeping the bar. Young, ponytailed and rather short, he was easy to underestimate, but Logan had trading enough blows with him to know better by now.

Sitting along the bar were a couple of the pub regulars, including the distasteful Toad. Mac's had always been a bit of a heaven for mutants and other… strange people, but now that Logan thought about it, the heaven did seem a little expanded since the time he first moved in.

"Hey Logan," Toad said, giving him a freakily wide grin. The seats on either side of him were empty, but Logan choose to go stand across from Eliot, who was putting away glasses with only one eye on the television. Thanks to Forge's genius it was far more tripped out than a bar TV had any right to be and the channel came in crisp and clear.

"The attack originated from Liberty Island, where it appears some kind of weapon was rigged to the top of the Statue of Liberty." The screen showed an image of some kind of pulse, perhaps electromagnetic, blossoming out from Liberty Island and then dissipating, shortly before reaching Elis Island, or the main city on Manhattan.

"Eh, that looks fake," sneered a girl, with buggy glasses and bushy black hair, "I bet this was all made up."

"Come on, really?" protested Toad, "You really think all those people are just making up lies? What for?"

"So they can blame the mutants of course," snapped the girl, "All they want is an excuse to take more aggressive action."

"A lot of the people who witnessed it were heads of state, respected officials," growled Eliot, behind the bar.

"All the more reason it's fake. Politicians are lying conspirators."

Eliot slammed a glass rather harshly down on the counter, "You have no idea what you're talking about, Yang," he snapped.

"Touchy," Yang said and emptied her glass noisily through a straw.

Logan was still watching the television. "Who do they think did it exactly?" he asked.

"They've arrested some old nut called Magneto on the scene, but they're pretty sure he wasn't the only one there," Eliot explained.

"Some one clamed to have seen some freaky jet," Toad put in, "And the police think some kind of fight went down, before they got to the scene and that whoever it was that beat the old guy up fled right after the pulse thing stopped."

"Hrm," Logan snorted and gratefully accepted the beer Eliot set before him, "Anyone hurt?"

"Some security guards is all," Yang said, "At least that's all they've reported."

The TV was showing pictures of Magneto, aka Erik Lehnsherr, a tall bony man, with refined gray hair and blue eyes.

"Hey, you know…he looks familiar," said Toad, staring up at the screen, "I don't know why. I just feel like I should know him, or something. Know what I mean?"

Yang looked at him her eyes huge through her glasses, "No. Well maybe. Perhaps your brain has been messed with, like Wolverine's."

Logan shot Yang a glare and Eliot, catching the look in his eyes, interrupted Toad and Yang's musings, "You need another drink?"

"Nah, thanks though," she replied and hopped off her stool. "It's almost morning. I should head home."

"I'll go with you. Wouldn't want nothing bad to happen to you," Toad said, hopping eagerly up beside her.

She wrinkled her nose. "I can take care of myself thank you."

Nonetheless, they left together and Eliot started putting away the stools and locking the register, as Logan finished his drink.

"Want to talk about it?" Eliot finally asked, "Toad said you came in covered in blood and with most your clothes shot to bits."

Logan glared, but Eliot wasn't the type to be intimidated. "It was nothing," he answered curtly.

Eliot looked at him then shrugged. "We know you've been through a lot Logan. But if you ever need help, you can let us know."

"I'm fucking fine," Logan growled and pushed away his empty glass, "And like I told Stink-face, I work alone. I got things to do tomorrow."

With that, Logan marched up to his apartment, hoping to get a few hours sleep, before crashing the Iceberg Lounge in the morning.

* * *

Controlled lighting shone from an aquarium on one side and an aviary on the other. On the desk, the lamp was low with a dark red shade dimming it all the more, hardly more than an outline could be seen of the short, plum man sitting behind it. Only his long beakish nose and glass monocle stood out from the shadows, as he pressed a retro black phone to his ear.

"I'm not culpable for the assassin's bungling performance!" he squawked, "If Deadshot can't fly, he never should have taken to wing. My concern is with your side of out deal. If you procured her help, so you get away with a disingenuous double-cross, then I'll have you tarred and feathered, Strange."

"…"

"Her! I mean that furtive feline witch, Catwoman, of course! I know she was the one who broke into my safe. How else would she have known to procured such an item, unless you informed her?!"

There was a pause and then the little man broke into a scornful crackle. "You think you can get away with that? I don't care what you say! Whether you hired her or not, I'm getting my property back. I'm sending all I got against you both you and your little cat-bugler. I'm sending the best there is!"

"…"

"No, I have no idea where Deadshot is sequesters himself and, until I get back what's mine, I don't care if he's flown the coup and run off to Timbuktu. Kill Wayne yourself, if you're so anxious to have it done. Now good night to you."

The phone hit the cradle with a ringing slam and Penguin glared down at it in disgust.

* * *

**AN:** Thank you everyone who left me a review last chapter! It really helped. I know this chapter didn't have much action, it ended up being a bit of a filler/development chapter, but it at least it was long. Thumbs up to anyone who recognized the name of the bar, the barkeeper, or the girl with the glasses. They all taken from other random fandoms I like. Finally, please be sure to review. It really helps me stay on track.


	6. Chapter 6: Mordrid

**Disclaimer:** I don't claim any rights or ownership and I'm not trying to make a profit.

**AN: **I'm sorry this took so long to post. I'm having a major case of writer's block with this story right now.

* * *

Chapter Six: Mordrid

It was warm, but Bruce didn't take off his jacket. Last night had left a few bruises and he didn't want to have to come up with new excuses if the police ask about them, so he just took another long drink of ice water, before answering the question.

"No, I have no idea why anyone would want to kill me, at least nothing beyond the usual. Being CEO of a multi-billion dollar company has been reason enough to draw trouble before." He looked anxiously over at the two detectives sitting across from him, "You really think that bullet was meant for me?" The fear in his tone must have been convincing, because one of them, a pretty blond, hastened to assure him.

"We aren't certain of anything Mr. Wayne," she said, "We're interviewing several of the guests from last night's event. I wouldn't worry too much if I were you." She leaned forward and smiled, in a way that wasn't very professional and yet drew a smile from Bruce in return.

"However," growled the other cop, giving his partner a slightly irritated glance, "You and Mr. Fox were the closest to the window and the trajectory of the bullet took it less than two inches from your head. We can't say if this was a condescendence or not, but that and the fact that Wolverine was on the scene, has us concerned that this was indeed an assassination attempt."

"Wolverine?" Bruce asked, turning a little pale. "Surely he wasn't-?"

"We're fairly certain he didn't fire the shot," the female detective said hastily.

"But he _may_ have been driving the plane," put in her partner. "He's a very dangerous mutant and the fact that he has tried to kill you in the past and then shows up the night a bullet flies by you ear isn't the only reason we're concerned." He tossed down some pictures of Deadshot, one of him in costume, one a mug shot. "This man look familiar?"

Bruce picked up the pictures and pretended to examine them, but his mind was seeing Floyd as he'd seen him last: dead on the roof of the Good Will. Before coming home this morning, he'd told Gordon where to find the body. It didn't take the world's greatest detectives to recognize Wolverine's handy work. Hopefully a citywide manhunt would be enough to keep the mutant from running around in broad daylight.

"I've never seen him before," Bruce reply in answere to the cop's question.

"Floyd Lawton, also known as Deadshot," explained the man, "He's an assassin for hire and we're pretty sure he was the one who fired the shot last night."

Bruce looked up, "Have you been able to catch him?"

The detective frowned, "He's dead. His body was discovered in one of the eastside suburbs."

"Oh. Oh my God! That's terrible!" exclaimed Bruce.

"We don't know who hired him," put in the female detective, "But the evidence leads us to believe Wolverine was the man who killed him."

Bruce glanced between them, "You think they were working together and then the mutant turned on… on this man," numbly Bruce set the photos back on the table his wide eyes still looking down at Floyd's face.

"It's a possibility," the lady detective said.

"It's also possible that Wolverine may be hoping to finish the job himself. Which is why Commissioner Gordon would like to provide you with police protection."

"I…" Bruce glances between them, "I appreciate that, but I don't think it will be necessary. All nonessential employees at Wayne Tower are taking the rest of the week off. I expect I'll be safe staying in my own home all day long."

The cops looked at each other, "Nonetheless, we're going to have a couple patrol cars outside and I hope you won't mind if they come by the house and check on you every few hours." They stood up. Clearly the issue wasn't up for debate.

"GPD is doing everything they can to catch Wolverine and find out who is behind the attack, Sir," said the lady and handed Bruce a card, "Call us if you remember anything, or if you see anything suspicious."

Standing up as well, Bruce took the card, his mouth still open in confused protest, "I really think your patrols will be of better use-"

"This is for the best, Sir," the lady assured, smiling at him one last time as she pulled on her jacket.

"Yeah," growled the man, "GPD would hate to see Gotham's most eligible get a bullet in the head. Come on Sandy."

They left and Bruce's weak faced anxiety fell into a steel hard glare.

"I see the police have gone," came Alfred's smooth British voice and Bruce turned, as the butler began gathering empty mugs and glasses. "Did I hear correctly? They're leaving guards around the house?"

"Complete waist of resources," growled Bruce, impatiently tossing Sandy's card to the table, "Wolverine could be ripping the city apart, as we speak and GPD waists men babysitting Richboy Bruce Wayne."

"Hrm…" said Alfred not sounding very concerned, "Well since "Richboy" Bruce Wayne promised to stay home all day, maybe you'll find the chance to do a little reading, Sir," Alfred said and took a thick manila envelope from under his coat, "This just came for you from Mr. Fox."

Bruce snorted as he took the documents, "I told Lucius to take the rest of the week off. I have more important things to deal with than company stuff." Nonetheless, Bruce tucked it under his arm, as he headed toward the clock, "I'll be down in the cave, for the rest of the day Alfred. Regular cups of coffee would be appreciated and try to keep the cops off my back."

"Of course, Sir," Alfred replied dryly, "After all, it's not like a few hours sleep ever did a body any good."

Three hours and four cups of coffee later, Bruce was sitting down in the cool darkness of the batcave, the pale gleam of his computer screens reflecting off his face and hands. Just because Batman didn't go out at day, didn't mean work came to a halt. Bruce did some of his best detective work down here. The phone he'd discovered at Deadshot's cash had turned up some good leads. As he'd expected the most recant calls had traced back to an overseas bank. It hadn't been easy, but after running his best hacking programs and making a few of the right calls, he'd managed to find and trace Floyd's accounts. Three million dollars had been forwarded to him the day before and he was currently running a program to trace where the money had come from. So far 75% of it had come from various business, most of which were headquartered here in Gotham and all of which were tied to Oswald Cobblepot, aka the Penguin. Bruce was fairly certain the rest of the money would eventually be traced to back to the same source.

Leaning back, he took out the book of matches he'd found in Floyd's pocket and turned it over in his hand. The Iceberg Lounge, owned by notorious ex-criminal now "respectable" businessman, the Penguin. Bruce knew Cobblepot was still dealing in dirty business and illegal trafficking, but why would he spend millions to kill Bruce Wayne and what did Wolverine have to do with any of it? Possibilities and theories flew through his considerations, as he chased them around in his mind, like a dog chasing its tail. It made his head spin, but he could land on no satisfactory answer.

Sighing, Bruce took a gulp of coffee and pushed it all aside. It would all become clear eventually, but right now he needed to give the mystery a little space. To distract himself, he picked up the closest thing on hand, the envelope Lucius had sent to him.

Deftly, he tore it open and began flipping through the pages. Gradually he frowned and leaned forward, turning on a small lamp so he could see better. Before him were several files on Colonel Stryker and Kurt Van Dyke. Clearly much of what Lucius had dug up was classified and just as clear was the fact that, even with Lucius's connections, only a small fraction of Stryker's work was here, but it was enough to make the hair on the back of Bruce's neck stand up.

"_Cataloging and researching mutant powers through capture and experimentation." _

"_Using a force of mutants to hunt down their own kind." _

"_Genetic and physiological experimentations on subjects." _

"_Results including death, unnatural mutation, terminal infections and insanity."_

It reminded Bruce of the World War II stories, where scientists had used Jews and other "undesirables" as unwilling subjects in terrible experiments. However this wasn't Nazis, but the US government, less than twenty years ago. It was sickening and he didn't even have all the gruesome details here. If this was what they'd managed to get from the surface, what secrets did Stryker have hidden in the really top secret files? There were only a few references to specific experiments. Experiment X or Weapons X was mentioned a few times, sometime as a success and sometimes as a disaster. Whatever the case had been, it seemed to have ended up bad enough to get Stryker shut down. At least Bruce hoped so. The man should have been given life imprisonment.

Frowning, Bruce closed what Lucius had sent on Styker and looked at the thinner file about Van Dyke. Wayne Enterprises had hired him to help lead a development group researching the behavioral and learning patterns. The uncovering of animal abuse and the failure to completely divulge high risks factors to several participating volunteers, had led the company to fire Van Dyke and eventually terminate the whole project. It'd cost them millions of dollars. Lucius had highlighted a few of the numbers, and Bruce frowned before reaching for the phone.

"Lucius, this is Bruce."

"Ah. I was wondering when you'd call. Read the files I sent over then?"

"Yeah. Hard to believe a man like this was walking around drinking our Champaign last night."

"The depths man can sink to make the skin crawl."

"No kidding. But what I called about are the numbers you highlighted in the Van Dyke file."

"Hrm. Yes I thought those might interest you."

"They don't add up. It shows only 2.4 million in losses, but the main budget recorded nearly five million lost on that project."

"5.9 to be exact," clarified Lucius, "Since sending that file this morning I've been checking the books more carefully and no matter how you run the numbers, or how many rugs I look under, I arrive at the same conclusion: at least three and a half million dollars has fallen through the cracks. More if you count real estate. We had multiple facilities for the use of Van Dyke's projects, besides offices in the science main building; there were some clinics and labs just outside the city. Supposedly the faculties were sold when we shut them down, but I can't find any record of the sale, or any money made off it."

Bruce frowned "Are we still paying upkeep and tax on them?"

"No. There's nothing on them at all. They just seemed to vanish from the company's books, like they were never there at all."

"About the missing three and half million, have you tried tracking it? There's got to be some trail."

"Course I tried," replied Lucius, "Even thought I was getting somewhere at first. It appeared to have gotten moved to some sub-accounts under the title "Mordrid," but after that I hit nothing but dead ends. It was moved out of Mordrid last March and just vanished. The sub-accounts were dissolved and there was nowhere else to look."

"Mordrid?" repeated Bruce and he moved to his computer hastily typing keys, "Thanks Lucius. Let me know if you find out anything else."

"I'll do that."

Bruce hung up, without saying goodbye and leaned back as he pulled reports onto his large screen.

"Fuck," he spat.

"Having a bad day are you?" asked Alfred, coming up behind Bruce, his eyebrows raised. It was unusual from Bruce to curse and he almost looked guilty, as he cast a glance at his servant.

"Remember those dirty bombs Joker tried to use last spring," he said, scrolling down the page some, "It seems the money used to buy them came right out of the pockets of Wayne Enterprises."

"You're sure, Sir?" asked Alfred frowning in concern.

"The bombs were brought from an under-market branch of Lex Corp. I tracked the funds to some ghost accounts called Mordrid, but couldn't track it farther than that. Lex Corp realized someone was digging and erased all traces of the transactions from the records and then I got distracted by other matters. Now it turns out Mordrid was money fallen through the cracks at Wayne Enterprises."

"So what your company just misplaced millions of dollars and it ended up funding Joker's terrorism?" scoffed a voice.

Bruce turned sharply to see Tim Drake standing by the elevator; his school bag over one shoulder and a cocky look in his eyes.

Alfred cleared his throat, "I was about to say Sir, you have a guest, whom I asked to wait up in the sitting room." He gave Tim a hard look.

"What are you doing here?" demanded Bruce, standing up with a stern glare that succeeded and dissolving Tim's cocky look into something guiltier, "We agreed that our partnership was over."

"Bruce, I heard on the news about the assassination attempt and I know about Deadshot and Wolverine. I thought you might need help."

"I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

"The last time you fought Wolverine, you came home with you arm nearly torn off and half your blood splattered over a kid's camp. You need me," accused Tim.

"I promised your parents that this was ended," snapped Bruce firmly. "I won't have you masquerading around the city against their wishes, Tim, and I certainly am not going to endanger you by taking you with me to hunt Wolverine."

Tim looked sour and then glanced at the computers still running a tracking program behind Bruce's back. "I see you updated your system. Is that the new XR 87? I read it would be coming out soon. You got it early!"

Bruce scowled and turned away. "Alfred take Robin… I mean Tim home."

"Ah, come one Bruce," protested Tim coming forward, "You don't need to take me out. I don't need to be Robin at all. I can still help. You know how good I am with computers. I'm dying to test out your new equipment. I can stay with Alfred in the cave. I can still help you without breaking our word to my parents."

Bruce turned and looked at him and Tim put on a pleading face, clasping his hands together.

"Please! I can hack and research just as well as you can. You know it."

Actually Tim Drake was a better hacker than him, though Bruce wasn't about to admit it. Bruce hadn't grown up with computers and had started considering them important around the same time he and Tim had met. He mostly relied on his million dollars software to do the work for him, but Tim could hack GPD on a school computer and still get to all his classes on time. Bruce tapped his fingers considering.

You could at least let the boy hold the base for an hour or so, Sir," suggested Alfred, "Then perhaps you could get some sleep before going out tonight."

"You always did say a clear and rested mind is an invaluable weapon," pressed Tim.

"Very well," Bruce finally conceded, "Come here and I'll show you how to use the system, but you're going to call your parents and I'm making sure you're home for dinner, even if it means delivering you to the door in person."

"Yes Sir!" exclaimed Tim, coming eagerly to the computer.

Bruce took several minutes to explain his latest hacking software to Tim, though the boy seemed to understand in half the time. He then explained the leads he had on Penguin and the information Lucius had provided, setting the boy a verity of research tasks, before taking Alfred's advise and going upstairs to get some rest.

* * *

It was half past ten in the morning when Logan walked past the Iceberg Lounge. The club wouldn't be open for hours, but the Penguin was known for spending his days in the underground offices. Hopefully it was true. Logan didn't relish the idea of confronting Penguin front of a of Gotham's elite.

Deciding against busting through the main doors in the middle of a crowded street, Logan went with plan B and circled the around the block, looking for a side entrance. All around, pedestrians trudged along the sidewalk and Logan made sure to keep his head bowed. As short as he was, it was easy to keep his face hidden with only the shadow of his wide brimmed cowboy hat. He slipped right through the crowd without anyone giving him half a glance.

He'd been on TV this morning. Deadshot's body had been found and apparently the police were looking for him. Logan wasn't too concerned. After all they'd been looking for him ever since he escaped Arkham and it was easier now to keep a low profile. In the cold weather no one gave the little man in the plain coat and cowboy hat a second look. They were too busy hurrying toward warmer places.

Following a side ally, Logan eventually found a backdoor, which led into the 'Berg's kitchens. A large dumpster, smelling strongly of fish and foul kitchen swill took up half the space and the rest was filled by a produce truck, unloading fresh ingredients. Causally, Logan leaned against the ally wall on the far side of the dumpster, lighting up a cigar as he listened. Hopefully an opening he might take advantage of would present itself, or at least confirmation that Penguin was in the Lounge. Even at a distance, his sharp ears had no trouble detecting the voices, picking them out from the endless hubbub of Gotham City.

"These asparagus don't look fresh! Neither do the lettuces! Mr. Cobblepot only buys he best!"

"Ah chill out Cooky! What do you 'spect at this time of year? If you don't like it, complain to the bosses. I'm just a delivery boy."

"I expect-!

As the cook and delivery boy bickered, one of the other truckers pulled a restaurant man aside.

"You got the latest reports?" the restaurant man asked in lowered tones.

"Right here." Files exchanged hands. "But my boss asked me to let Penguin know their running into some issues. Lost a shipment and that matter up the coast is making the police ask questions. Cobblepot here?"

"He's in his office, but I know what he'd say. If Swan can't keep his boots clean, The Penguin certainly won't help him cover his tracks. He's got plenty to deal with here in Gotham."

"All the same, the boss wants to talk to Penguin in person sometime soon."

The restaurant man turned away dismissively, tucking the file into his coat. "I'll leave a note with his secretary. Now I recommend you hurry up and finish unloading the produce."

Scowling, the deliveryman turned back to the truck as the other man walked across the ally to a neighboring building, pulling out a set of keys as he went. After circling the block, Logan knew the next building was a boutique store selling the usual useless fop like feathers, scarves and jewelry boxes at outrageous prices. The ally divided them, but it was possible that their substructures connected.

As the man pushed the door open, Logan strode across the ally, quick and quiet as a cat. He grabbed the man from behind and shoved inside. All it took was swift twist and his victim went limp, his neck braking with a faint cracking sound. The body crumpled to the floor.

As expected, Logan was in an empty receiving room, filled with boxes and a few stray feather boas left on a desk. Sickeningly pleasant music and a shop-clerks hollow, overly friendly tones could be heard from somewhere up ahead, but what interested Logan were the steps in the corner leading down.

Shutting the ally door as softly as possible, Logan pocketed the restaurant man's keys, before stepping toward the steps. There was a locked door immediately at the bottom, but it didn't take long to find the right key on the set he'd just stolen.

"This may be easier than I expected," Logan muttered to himself, glancing around an empty tunnel. Then he looked up, right into the lenses of a security camera. "Damn it."

There was _snikt _as he extended his claws and ripped the camera down. Then he cracked his neck and sniffed. "Well bring it, Birdy."

* * *

**AN: **I feel like the last two chapters have been really long and mostly just filler. Hopefully things will pick up after this. When I finally finish this and, if I ever revise it, I have the feeling I might just cut out a lot of the last couple of chapters. So I apologize for the slow pace, thank you for bearing with me. I don't have much experience with long stories. Most of my work until now has been one-shots, or simple short stories. If you have any good advise about keeping a more complicated story on track and momentous, I could really use it. Thanks.

Please Review.


	7. Chapter 7: Bird's Bargain

**Disclaimer:** I don't claim any rights or ownership and I'm not trying to make a profit.

* * *

Chapter Seven: **Bird's Bargain **

The rapid _Crack-crack-crack! _of gunfire sounded and Logan was thrown off his feet in a splash of crimson blood, as several bullets hit their target. Pain like white-hot fire overwhelmed him, only to be followed by the familiar red haze of his rage.

"NaRahhhhh!"

Eyes flashing like a crazed tiger, Logan leapt forward down the hall, springing off the ground from all four limbs.

_Bang bang bang!_

He didn't even feel the bullets now and lunged the last fifteen feet in one bound, claws first. The lucky ones dropped their rifles and ran and the other four ended up eviscerated, before they had the chance.

"We need back up! Somebody! Fuck! This guy's not human!" screamed one of Penguin's thugs, as he followed his compatriots through a steel door and slammed it closed. "Have Kelly bring some grenades!" he shouted into an ear-com, "And for God's sake-"

There was a sudden slamming screech of metal vs metal and the man went limp three claws stabbing through the door and his skull.

"Zounds!" squawked Penguin, as he watched the feed coming through the security cameras. "This is most remarkable. What in heaven's name are those things made of? He just cut through enforced steel like it was gossamer!"

"I'm not concerned about the fucking door!" shouted the head of security beside him, "Those were a dozen of our best guys and he's cutting through them just a fast. What is he?! Superman's little gorilla cousin?! Bullets are fucking useless!"

Penguin adjusted his monocle and cleared his throat. "Whomever he's related to, he's your problem now, Kyle, so I recommend you do something and fast!" he stabbed at his employee with his umbrella, "Before he gets **any** farther."

Scowling, Kyle, spoke into an earpiece. "Wallace, Ortega and his men are down. I need you to get the biggest weapons we got and head for the lower west entrance! Hit this guy with everything you can."

Throwing the remains of the door into the two remaining gunmen, Logan finished them off with a fast stab and a hard kick to the head, before crouching, animal like, and sniffing. Besides the gruesome smells of blood, death and guns, he could sense that the basement of the Iceberg Lounge was bigger and deeper than one would have expected. Apparently, the club took after its namesake. Also, despite it still being before noon, there were a lot of people in this supposed nightclub. All were afraid.

The rage was fading slowly, as his wounds stung and healed and Logan shed his hat and coat. They were slowing him down and blood and bullets had rendered them beyond saving.

He tossed the coat over the gruesome sight of a guard with his neck sliced almost completely in half, then ripped down another camera and surveyed his options. Penguin had more firepower than he'd expected and they were obviously more than bouncers. But whatever was really going on at The Iceberg Lounge Nightclub, his objective was to find Penguin. Choosing between some steps leading down and a hallway leading to the kitchens, Logan took the stairs.

As he walked deeper into the sub basements, Logan could hear men scrambling for weapons and he growled, shaking his blood soaked hair from his eyes. Was it going to be blood and gore the whole way down?

With a _snikt_, his claws started to emerge again, but then he paused, as he noticed a door with a padlock and a "Danger" sign.

One swipe of a claws and a kick later, he smirked. He'd found a circuit box. This was more like it.

"I'm not sure where he is! Damn it. Just find him!" shouted Kyle, "He's somewhere on that floor."

Beside him, Penguin was flipping through the security feeds. Four of the cameras were down now. "This mad mutant is- Whah!" Penguin started when the lights suddenly when out, along with the remaining security feeds.

"The utility closet," Kyle shouted into the coms, "The circuit breaker is in the closet just right of the stairs on the third floor. Go!"

"Hrm…" Penguin frowned as he looked around the darkness then took a flash light out of the desk. "The mutant is up to something. I smell trickery." He tapped his oversized nose.

"He's a thug and a freak," Kyle growled, rubbing a hand over his short blond hair, which was lined in silver gray, "He thinks he can hide in the dark, but all he's done is let us know where he is."

"We shall see," Penguin said, "But it's best not to underestimate "_freaks_" in this city."

The gleam of flashlights and the smell of men and guns came up the hall and Logan pressed closer to the shadows around the corner of the stairs. He didn't need to see them to know exactly where they were. Only five men, but they were carrying assault rifles and even some grenades. Logan waited. The first man jerked the closest open and they all braced shining lights into the dark room.

"There's no one he-"

He was on them faster than a lion on sleeping pray. Attacking from behind, Logan used his fists and boots rather than his claws this time. Deftly, Logan knocked together the heads of two guards in the back, kicked the lights out of the hands of two more and slammed the leader' head into the wall, before anyone realized what was going on. Flashlights rolled uselessly around on the floor, illuminating the panicked movement of feet and occasionally the bruised and bloodied heads of the fallen.

"Where is he?! Ah Hell!"

_Rat-a-crack-a-crack!_

Guns when off in the dark, spraying in random directions. One of the two remaining guards thought he heard a sound and he turned to find a hairy, blood smeared face less than a foot away.

_Snikt – Crintch_

Before he could lift his rifle, it was wrenched from his hands, falling in pieces to the floor.

One punch later and the guard was unconscious beside it.

With a whimper, the final guard turned and fled back down the hall, but Logan snarled and followed with a predatory lunge.

"Going somewhere, Bub?"

The guard crashed to the floor, Logan's knee in on his back and his hand on his neck.

"God help me!"

There was a smashing thud as Logan's claws rammed four inches down into the floor only a hairs breath away from his face.

"You're going to lead me to the Penguin," came a low growl in his ear.

"Wallace? Wallace answer me!" Kyle shouted pacing in frustration with one hand on his ear-com.

"Let me guess," Penguin mused, "Our esteemed guardians are not responding? It seems like you are rapidly running out of men."

"_WE _are running out of men. Have no doubt. This freak is after you."

"And now you're all that stands between me and this "_freak" _of a thug. What is the saying… trapped between a hammer and a hard place… hrm?" Penguin twisted his umbrella in his hands, looking thoughtful.

Kyle scowled and took out his gun, making sure it was loaded. Then there was a buzz and his hand flashed back to his radio. "Wallace! Talk to me! ..." "…I don't care what he did. …"

"…You're talking. All your limbs are still attached, so I expect you to do your damn job. Find out where he is and put the animal down!"

_Screech! Crack-Thud_

The metal door of the security office broke open the heavy bolts shredded. Standing in the dark hallway was Logan, a guard held by the neck in one hand. Like a wildcat, his eyes gleamed in the dark. Taking in the two people in the room and he gave a wolfish smile.

"Well done," he growled and then slammed the captive guard's head against the doorway and tossed him unconscious into the hall.

"Freeze freak!" shouted Kyle, lifting his gun and cracking off three rapid shots, as Logan stepped forward. Two hit him in the chest the third buried itself in Logan's stomach. More fresh blood bloomed into his stained and ragged clothes and Logan stumbled slightly, leaning over and holding his stomach with one hand, coughing.

Kyle and Penguin watched in stunned disbelief, as Logan recovered his balance, then coughed up a crumpled bulled. Spitting the led into his hand, Logan shook himself and smirked slightly, before flipping the bullet back at Kyle. "I'd drop the gun if I were you, Bub. I got some things to talk over with yer boss."

"DIE! DIE!" screamed Kyle, snapping out of his stupor and pulling the trigger again, in a mad frenzy.

BANG BANG!

Suddenly Kyle's wrist was jerked down and the pistol knocked to the floor, as Penguin's umbrella came down on this arm.

"Imbecile!" Penguin squawked, "Stand down. And You!"

Penguin rounded the point of the umbrella to Logan, who was on the verge of bestial lunge, his claws already extending and a roar growling in his throat, as he his eyes fixed on Kyle.

"Are you a man or savage lion? You came to talk? Then start with some decent etiquette!" He jabbed the sharp tip lightly against Logan's chest, "Who are you, Sir?"

Logan hesitated the rage fading some, as Kyle stepped back. Snorting, Logan kicked the dropped pistol into a corner, before retracting his claws and shifting his gaze to Penguin.

"My name is Logan. I'm a mutant and an escaped mental patient," he said, "They call me Wolverine."

The lights suddenly came back on, flooding them all in yellow brightness. Logan's shirt was all but falling off of his muscular torso and dried blood stuck to his hairy chest. His hands were red and blood smudged his face. Logan's black hair stood wildly off his head, stiff with dried blood and poking up in two directions. Never had an introduction seemed more apt.

Penguin blinked in the sudden light and took in the sight of the man before him. "Hrm… So your are the Wolverine. Your reputation has preceded you, Mutant."

"Whoop-ti-dee," Logan growled, "Now that yeh know who I am, how 'bout you answer some questions for me, Beaky."

"We shall see," Penguin turned to Kyle, "Mr. Kyle you may leave."

"But…" Sputtered Kyle, "He could kill you!"

"Mayhap he will. You obviously can't stop it though, so make yourself useful and see if any of your men are still alive and call in the cleaning crew." He gave Kyle a hard look.

"Are you…" Kyle started, but then closed his mouth and stomped out, slamming the door on his way out.

Logan watched him go with a satisfied smirk and then cracked his knuckles and his neck, before looking back at Penguin, who'd settled himself comfortably in the desk chair.

"What can I help you with, Mutant?" he asked, taking out a Mars candy bar and carefully ripping back the wrapper.

"Deadshot," Logan growled, "You hired him to assassinate Bruce Wayne. Why?"

"Ah yes… Lawton. Deadfool. I heard you did a number on him."

"And I'll do another on you, Bub, if you don't answer the question," growled Logan, extending his claws. "Why'd yeh hire him?"

Penguin swallowed a mouthful of chocolate. "I did it on the behest of an acquaintance of mine."

"Who?!" snarled Logan advancing ,until his extended claws were only a few inches from Penguin's long nose. "Was it Strange? Where is he?"

"Ah now that's the real question. You're after whoever is after Wayne. You already suspect Hugo Strange. One wonders… how a man such as yourself could possibility-"

"Answer me!" Logan stepped forward again, knocking the half finished candy bar to the floor and grabbed the front of Penguin's tuxedo. "Or shall I start carving you like a turkey, birdman?" he tapped the side of Penguin's long nose with one of his claws.

"Ghah…" Penguin squirmed, flapping his arms as he struggled some. "I'll tell you!" he squawked, "I'll gladly tell you, but first you have to do something for me."

"Yeah…" Logan drawled, "I'll consider letting yeh live. This isn't a barter, Bub!"

"Now, now," Penguin said, as he swallowed nervously, "You slaughtered your way down here easily enough, but you might not find it so easy to depart, once the Iceberg is full of cops. You're a wanted man, an Arkham escapee. They'll bring all they have to bare down on you."

Logan hesitated slightly. He could hear sirens in the distance, but that was always the case in big cities. However these were coming closer.

"Two minutes," Penguin said, looking at his watch, "Assuming Kyle did as I told him."

"You wouldn't want to bring the cops down on this place. This place stinks of more crime than a Chicago speakeasy."

"You wound me mutant!" Penguin cried, "I've changed. All Gotham knows I'm now an honest man and this is an honest nightclub. Besides," he smiled slightly, "I have some good friends in the force. We have arrangements. All they'll find here are more brutal murders done by a mad mutant."

The sirens were defiantly getting closer. Logan snarled and threw Penguin down to the floor. "Two minutes is all I'll need Oswald." He pinned Penguin down with one boot and lowered his claws toward his face. "Talk! You have five seconds. Five… Four…"

"Eek… Be reasonable. Why go to this trouble and risk fighting the police, when I will tell you freely tonight over a bottle of Charbonneau and roast chicken. All you need to do is go and fetch a little something and I'll tell you all you want to know about Doctor Hugo Strange."

Logan was sorely tempted to ignore him and start beating the stuffing out of Penguin, but as much as he hated it, Logan really didn't want to fight the police again. He didn't trust Penguin any further than he could spit, but Logan wanted to get out without killing innocent cops. In these tight, underground halls, it wouldn't be so easy to escape, as in the skyscraper the night before. He'd have to risk playing the bird's game.

Sheathing his claws Logan growled in Penguin's face. "Alright I'll bite this time. What do you want? And don't waist my time with a long explanation."

"Nhg," Penguin said, still penned under Logan's heavy boot, "Someone stole a videotape from my safe. It was of a sensitive nature. I want you to find the thief, kill her and retrieve this tape."

"Her?" Logan repeated darkly.

"The thief goes by the name of Catwoman," explained Penguin, "She left a souvenir. It's in the desk drawer."

Stepping off Penguin, Logan jerked open the drawer and took out a small glass figurine of a cat. He sniffed it once, catching the trace smells of perfume, cats, leather and sweat.

"My resources have informed me that she's consistently done business with a pawn shop, on 12th street on the east end, but that's all we presently know."

"Its enough," growled Logan, pocketing the figurine and turning for the door. "I'll see you tonight."

Outside three police cars had pulled up in front of the club, but Logan slipped away, before any of the GPD were shown downstairs.

* * *

**AN:** Sorry about how slow my update rate has been on this. I promise I haven't abandoned it and I don't plan ever doing so. However, with two jobs and college taking up time, as well as a second story that's been itching to get written. I can't promise that the pace will pick up. Just know that I will continue this and I really appreciate your patients and support.

~MMM


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